Camping Is Irrational
by skinnylovebird
Summary: Greg convinces Mycroft to go camping. Chaos ensues. Mystrade Fic, M/M, rated M for possible sexytimes, semi-established Mystrade. Fluffy fluff fluff :) Credit for cover pic goes to the user patatomato on DeviantArt. (I own nothing besides the plot.)
1. Lots O' Pillows

Mycroft insisted on bringing extra blankets and pillows, and stuffed the back of Greg's 1968 Jeepster Commando with all the feathery down he could find in the house, along with a travel case of hand warmers Anthea had thoughtfully bought beforehand. Mycroft Holmes was not going to catch a cold on this ridiculous trip.

Pushing all the items down in the backseat, trying to leave room for Greg's things, he wiped his brow. The older man came around and chuckled.

"Don't worry Myc, you packed enough blankets for three men, I don't need my own."

Going back to the trunk of the car, he resumed packing, and Mycroft got inside with a huff.

While Mycroft had been worrying about warmth, Greg had loaded the back with a propane stove, utensils, food, an axe for chopping firewood, and other gear. Closing the trunk door, he came around to the passenger side and peered through the window, breath fogging up the glass. Mycroft was struggling to get buckled, as the pillows he had stuffed in the back seat were currently expanding and tumbling into his lap, obstructing his view and messing up his hair. Greg fought back a laugh and grabbed the offending pillows and stuffed them back into place. Once he could, Mycroft spoke in annoyance.

"I dislike the confinements of this car Gregory. We would have had much more room in one of my limousines, or maybe even Molly's old Volkswagen van. She DID offer it for this occasion, and it did seem to be clean and working."

"Hey! It's nice. You wanted all the blankets, remember?" Greg said as Mycroft pouted slightly.

"Let's see if we can move the seat back, give you a little more leg room."

He grabbed the lever and strained to push Mycroft's seat back, against the mountain of white linen pillows and blankets. Mycroft had a very appealing view of Greg's muscles, straining and flexing, and he bit his lip.

"There we are. Better?"

Mycroft nodded, tearing his eyes away from the other man's arms, to meet his eyes and smile. Greg walked around to the driver side and hopped in. Both doors shut, and Greg started the engine. A whining chug could be heard, wheezing and straining, as the engine valiantly tried to start. It did not, however, and Greg got out with a curse.

"Bloody Commando, dunno why I keep wastin' money on you, you bottomless pit..."

While Greg was scratching his head and looking underneath the hood, Mycroft realized that he'd left something inside. With a gasp, and a mad dash to the door, he unlocked it deftly and began his search. So wrapped up in the engine troubles that he didn't notice, Greg sighed, lowered the hood and walked to the driver's seat again. Starting the engine, he was rewarded with a leap to life and the purr of the engine was a huge relief. Wiping his brow, he almost started to drive before he realized Mycroft was not in the car. Looking over at the passenger seat, he sighed. Turning off the engine and crossing his fingers that it would start up again when he came back, he walked up to the flat to look for Mycroft, who almost ran him over coming out.

"Jesus, Myc! What did you go back in for?"

Holding up his monogrammed umbrella, in all sincerity, he looked at Greg.

"It might rain."

The other man laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

"God Myc, that's what we got the tent for, innit?"

Mycroft scowled and walked to the car, throwing the umbrella in the back. Greg smiled and followed after, remembering to hold the pillows out of the way when Mycroft buckled. The younger man's frown disappeared and he gave a little half-smile. Even if the older Holmes had never been camping, and had some very pre-concieved notions about the idea, Greg was going to make this as enjoyable as possible.

This weekend was going to be interesting.


	2. Salad Is Not Good For Making Love

They took off, and as Greg navigated the car to the highway, the younger man began to get bored.

"Greegoryyy. Greg. Stop ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you Myc, I gotta drive." Greg made a stupid face at him and Mycroft huffed, shuffling around to look for something to do.

"Listen, I got a road trip game that I used to play on long trips with the family. It's called the Alphabet game. Ever played it?"

Mycroft sniffed. "Obviously not."

"Okay, it's pretty easy. All you gotta do is shout out letters in the alphabet as you see them on signs or buildings. Like 'A in Applebee's' or somethin'."

"Okay."

Greg shouted out names of businesses they passed and Mycroft matched him one for one, until the game ended in a tie. Both men were flushed with excitement, as the game had turned into a shouting match when both tried to outdo the other. A happy silence fell over the Jeep, and they drove for a while, just watching the scenery go by.

Mycroft found himself starting to drift off as they drove, and as he slipped into unconsciousness, his head came to rest on Greg's shoulder. The older man grinned and shifted so it was more comfortable, and Mycroft immediately snuggled into the spot between his neck and his shoulder, seeking out warmth in his sleep. Greg drove like this for a while until he could feel his arm falling asleep, and he gently nudged Mycroft.

"Hey. Mycroft, wake up. Myc."

Greg grinned again as the younger man made a sound that could only be called a 'snuffle' before digging his head even deeper into the crook of his neck.

"Ouch, wake up Myc."

Mycroft's eyes opened instantly, and on seeing his position, namely the non-existent distance between his body and Greg's, instantly withdrew and sat up straight.

"I apologize, I have a sleeping habit of seeking warmth."

"Don't apologize Myc, it was fine. My arm was only falling asleep, that's all."

Mycroft smiled slightly and they rode until the growling of Greg's stomach broke the silence.

"You want somethin' to eat?" The older man asked. "I'm bloody starving."

"I'm a little thirsty, perhaps we could stop somewhere?"

"Yeah, there's a Wendy's near this exit, we'll go through the drive-thru."

They took the exit, and pulling up to the speaker, Greg eyed the menu hungrily.

"Ah...Hmmm...I'll have a Baconator, side of medium fries and a bottled water please. Myc, what do you want?"

Mycroft debated between the least-greasiest items on the menu, and settled on a chicken apple salad.

"Ew."

"Greg, it's healthy. And besides, salads don't cause grease to drip down your chin."

"It's still gross, give me bacon over lettuce any day."

"You're a baby."

Greg stuck his tongue out at the younger man, who rolled his eyes. Pulling up to the window, they took their food and Greg handed his debit card to the young man behind the glass. Opening the bag, Greg inhaled deeply and let out a porn-worthy groan that made Mycroft half jump out of his seat.

"I could make sweet love to this hamburger right now." He groaned. "Too bad sticking your dick in a pile of lettuce would be far less pleasurable."

Mycroft blushed, and looked down at his salad, picturing the appendage of which Greg spoke between the older man's legs. Stirring his salad around, his mind spiraled down that road until Greg's hand, searching for napkins while he was squinting at the road, landed squarely in his crotch.

Mycroft squeaked, and Greg instantly pulled back, realizing what he did.

"Ah, shit Myc sorry... I was just looking for napkins."

Greg's face was pink, and when Mycroft looked, he was indeed in need of a napkin, with barbecue sauce and crumbs dotted across his chin and cheeks.

"Messy eater, huh?" Mycroft smirked.

Reaching blindly for the napkins again, Greg snorted and made sure to stay well away from the younger man's lap.

"I found them, hold on." Mycroft muttered.

Struck with an idea, he grabbed a couple of napkins from the bottom of the greasy paper bag and cleaned Greg's face himself. Dabbing at all the spots with food, he methodically wiped it off, as Greg's lips began to twitch.

"What?" Mycroft spoke, suddenly worried.

"Damn it Myc, that bloody tickles!" Greg dissolved into laughter.

"Keep your eyes on the road, madman, you're going to get us killed."

Greg giggled and squirmed as Mycroft attempted to get the rest. Once he had finished, the older man licked his lips.

"Now you know my weakness Myc. I'm going to have to kill you now."

"I assumed that that was the point of this whole trip."

"Drama queen, it'll do you some good to loosen up, breathe air that's not been filtered for a day or so, yeah?"

Mycroft sank back with a huff and a smile that Gregory couldn't see.

This weekend WAS going to be interesting.


	3. Mycroft's Not Skilled In The Backseat

They pulled up to the ranger's booth on the road at what was called Fall Creek. Of course, Mycroft didn't recognize the place, but Greg's eyes lit up and he grinned at coming back to his old haunt. The man behind the counter was on the phone, and they patiently waited for him to finish. The man began to argue with whoever was on the phone in hushed tones and Mycroft leaned over to whisper in Greg's ear.

"He's arguing with his supervisor. There was a fire on the other end of the campgrounds, and he thinks it was a cigarette butt, while his supervisor thinks it was a campfire that wasn't put out. It's not really a big issue, so there must be something else fueling the argument."

The man hung up the phone with a slam, composed himself, and turned toward the two men.

"Now, what can I do for you?" He asked with a polite smile.

Before Greg could ask where to park, Mycroft interrupted.

"Where are your showers?"

"We don't have any here sir. There is a motel down the road a few miles back, they have showers."

"Oh no you don't." Greg tutted. "No showers Mycroft, that's part of camping."

Ignoring the look of horror on the younger man's face, he turned back to the waiting ranger.

"Where do I park for spot two-forty-five?"

"Up a ways, there's a fork, take the left and you'll come to a lot. Your spot is marked on a sign, so just follow the trail and you'll get there." He said, looking at Mycroft warily, for he was still fuming.

Greg thanked him and drove off, following the man's instructions. The sun was shining, and he had to squint to see where he was going. Weaving his way through the parking lot, he found the parking space and stopped the car.

"At least I packed deodorant." Mycroft pouted.

"You'll be fine Myc." He parked the car and got out. "Stop sulking, you smell fine. Come and help me with the gear."

Mycroft soon realized that the clothes he was wearing were not suited to the work he was finding himself doing. Although he was not in his usual suit, he was still wearing a button up shirt and vest, with black dress pants. Really, he had no more appropriate clothing than that. Seeing his obvious discomfort, Greg sighed.

"Since this is a two-man job and I can't carry it all, take these." After digging in his duffel bag he threw an undershirt and jeans at Mycroft.

The older Holmes brother stammered and his cheeks gained a pink tinge.

"I can't wear your clothes Gregory. Don't you need them?"

"Packed extras, don't worry. Now go and change and come help me."

Mycroft looked around for a place to change, but all he saw were trees. Frowning, he realized that since the tent was not set up, the only thing with a roof and walls was the car. Resigning himself to new experiences, he trudged over to the car door and opened it, climbing inside and completely missing Greg's wide smirk.

The older man cracked open a beer as he waited for Mycroft to change, leaning against the car. He started to move as furious rocking shifted the car, and he turned around with an amused smile. Mycroft was having trouble with his jeans, and with his legs in the air, he hit his head against the inside of the door and cussed. Finally getting clothed and climbing out of the old car, Greg had to admit, he looked attractive.

Stomping over to Greg, he opened the cooler and pulled a can of lemonade out. Too flustered to care about drinking from a can, he chugged the cool liquid.

"Easy, you haven't even moved any heavy stuff yet, Myc." Greg smiled.

Mycroft wiped his mouth with a glare, and set about moving the heavy items to the ground. Drinking his beer, Greg found his eyes drawn to the the younger man's arms, you'd never know it under those suits but Mycroft had some decent muscle. Pale, milky skin that looked like the sun had never seen it, dotted with freckles that rippled with every time Mycroft flexed his arms to lift something. Mycroft stopped and stared at him.

"So, you get me into your pants so I can help, and then you choose to stand there?" Mycroft indignantly stated.

The tips of Greg' ears turned pink at his choice of words, and he threw the empty beer can away and rushed to help unload. Once they had gotten everything out, they loaded it onto their backs and began down the trail. Mycroft was muttering at everything he saw that was to his disliking, and Greg made sure that no blackberry vines would scratch him. Upon reaching the campsite, they dropped their gear in relief, for the trail had unexpectedly been quite long. Even Mycroft had to admit, the view was great. They had a perfect place for the tent, a fire pit, lots of trees, and a breath-taking view of the lake. It was sunny out, and the light sparkled off the waves, and you could hear birds and animals chattering away. Gregory looked completely at peace, and Mycroft considered that he might enjoy this after all.


	4. A Fish To The Face

Just as Mycroft was beginning to feel at ease, things began to go awry. He was assigned the task of setting up the tent while Greg searched for firewood for later. The poles wouldn't go through the little straps, and the hooks wouldn't go into the ground. Not wanting to ruin his shoes by stomping on them, he set about beating them into the ground with a rock.

At that point, Greg returned with an armful of wood and nearly dropped it all when he saw Mycroft. Flustered, and angry, the younger man was squatting on the ground, careful to not get Greg's clothes dirty, and pounding a rock against one of the stakes.

"Myc, god, what are you doing?"

Mycroft glared up at him.

"I'm setting up the tent, Gregory. The stakes won't go into the ground."

Greg giggled and set the wood in his arms down by the metal fire pit.

"All you gotta do is step on it, Mycroft."

He walked over and put his shoe on the top of the badly dented stake.

"Here, it might still go into the ground." He swiftly pounded it into the ground with the back of his shoe and Mycroft frowned.

"I didn't want to ruin my shoes."

Greg smiled and looked down at him.

"You're adorable when you don't know what to do."

Mycroft blushed and stammered, choosing to pound another stake in the way Gregory had done to hide his pink face.

Greg laughed and began taking fishing poles out of the trunk of the car and putting them together.

"You brought fishing poles?" The redhead queried.

"Yeah, I love to fish. If you want I'll teach you Myc."

"Ah, sure. I suppose."

They put together the poles in silence, and he showed the younger man how to bait a hook. They weren't using worms, as he didn't want to scare Mycroft away from camping forever, so Greg took out a little jar of brightly colored bait.

"No fish in their right mind would eat that, Gregory."

"Yeah they will, you'll see. Fish are attracted to bright colors and strong smells, and this baby has both."

Mycroft refused to touch it, so Greg baited both their hooks and Greg cast his line. Watching, the younger man attempted to repeat the action, but got the hook stuck on a low-hanging branch over the water. Greg sighed.

"Alright, gimme your pole."

Mycroft handed it over and Greg gave a few swift yanks and the hook fell into the water. Reeling it back it and putting more bait on it, he handed it back to Mycroft. Standing behind the younger man, he held on to his arms and helped him to cast. Leaning back into Greg's warm body, Mycroft smiled and let the older man guide his movements.

"Yeah! You did it, Myc!"

The line flew out into the lake, and they sat down on a log to wait. After a while, Greg's line began to shake, and he grabbed it and began to reel. Muttering under his breath as the fish fought, he finally reeled it in and grinned.

"That's gotta be at least seven inches. Not bad for the first fish. Go grab the camera Myc, it's in my bag."

Mycroft came back with the camera and snapped a picture of the beaming Gregory and his fish. As he was setting the camera down, his pole began to bob up and down, and Greg shrieked.

"Myc you got one, grab the pole!"

He made a lunge for it and held the pole, unsure of what to do.

"Reel it in Myc, reel!"

Gregory was dancing about and Mycroft struggled with the fish, wondering if they were always this strong. Finally getting it out of the water, the older man's eyes grew wide.

"Bloody hell, that's a Largemouth Bass. That's awesome, Myc."

Mycroft grinned, and after a second, Greg exclaimed.

"Oh! I wanna take a picture."

The younger man held the fish up, grinning at Greg. Just as he snapped the picture, the fish jerked, hitting Mycroft full in the face.

"Ah! Jesus." He cursed, and Greg set down the camera hastily.

"You okay?"

Mycroft glared at him, rubbing his cheek.

"I'm fine. Just startled me."

Gregory giggled and wiped water off of Mycroft's face with his sleeve. Picking up the camera, he looked at the picture he'd taken and laughed. The fish was a blur, but Mycroft's indignant shock was clear. The younger man scowled over his shoulder. Gregory looked back at him laughing.

"I'm going to frame this, I am."


	5. Backrubs and Blowjobs

Mycroft Holmes muttered in his sleep.

It was the cutest thing ever. Or so Greg thought, as he woke up to hear Mycroft muttering angrily in his sleeping bag. Anthea had generously shopped for all Mycroft's camping gear, as he hadn't previously owned any. She purchased a silk-lined, bio thermal sleeping bag, flannel blankets for Greg, and large amounts of cotton blankets and pillows. The same ones that had encumbered him ant the beginning of the trip, were now surrounding him, and to a lesser extent Greg.

"Detective 'spector... don't be...tease..."

Mycroft then proceeded to groan quite loudly.

Greg's face flushed, from the tips of his ears to his neck. Wondering what the bloody hell Mycroft could be dreaming about, he rolled over in his sleeping bag and pushed off the flannel blankets. Half out of his warm blankets, he reached over, meaning to wake the younger man up and tell him he'd been having a nightmare or something.

Leaning over Mycroft, who was flushed and biting his lip, he made the mistake of looking down. The older Holmes was sporting an impressive erection, rock hard against his boxers. The thought that he must've gotten too hot in all the blankets he brought flashed across Greg's mind. He felt sorry for Mycroft, and tugged off a couple layers of blankets. the younger man visibly relaxed, although he was still making delicious sounds in the back of his throat, still caught up in his dream.

Something took hold of Greg, and he reached a hand down to Mycroft's boxers. Stopping and watching the expression on the other man's face, he was mesmerized.

Goddamn, he must be having a good dream.

Reaching further down, he slipped his hand underneath the elastic band and stroked Mycroft once. The younger man immediately groaned and arched slightly towards the contact, still asleep.

"Fucking hell...god yes...Gregory."

At the sound of his name lustfully passing Mycroft's lips, Greg broke, and pulled Mycroft's boxers down. The younger man was still sleeping, and Greg licked once up his cock.

The younger man's body shook, and Gregory could only wonder what he was dreaming about.

"Fuck...fuck...yes...Greg..."

Gregory took the other man's length into his mouth, bottoming out and eliciting a breathy sigh from Mycroft. The younger man was tossing his head around with the intensity of his dream, sweat beading his forehead and hands clenched in the blankets.

Suddenly, Mycroft came and Greg spluttered, swallowing it. Mycroft screamed when he orgasmed, and Greg's cock twitched at the thought of making him scream while he was awake.

Pulling off with a soft pop, the older man cleaned Mycroft up, and retired back to his sleeping bag and flannels.

* * *

It was eight in the morning, and Mycroft awoke to the sounds and smells of bacon, eggs, and a cigarette. Climbing out of the tent, he stopped short. Greg was shirtless, and cooking him breakfast. (Greg was only shirtless because he'd gotten Mycroft's cum on him last night, but the younger man wasn't to know that.)

"Morning, beautiful."

Greg snickered at the sight of Mycroft, whose hair was sticking to all sides, and his shirt half-tucked in.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Does camping always make your muscles hurt like this?"

Greg flushed an uncharacteristic shade of red, and Mycroft was confused.

"Ah, no. Your muscles are probably just reacting to the-the lifting we did yesterday."

Mycroft was even more confused. Gregory never stuttered. Dismissing it in favour of sustenance, he sat down on the edge of the picnic table. While Gregory cooked breakfast, Mycroft rubbed at his shoulders, trying to work the kinks out of them, until finally, Greg took pity.

"Mycroft, c'mere."

Greg motioned to the spot on the picnic bench between his legs and Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Just do it, Myc."

Once he'd finished getting comfortable, Greg handed the pan of sizzling bacon to Mycroft.

"Just hold it over the flame, the propane will do the rest."

Mycroft obliged, and as he held it there, Greg rubbed his shoulders. Surprised, Mycroft let him work the tension out of his muscles, stifling groans when Gregory's thumbs ran over his skin. Lestrade really knew how to use his hands. Suddenly, he felt lips at the back of his neck, and he tensed.

"God, I'm sorry Myc."

Greg immediately stopped all contact with the younger man, and looked down at the bench, feeling ashamed. There was silence for a minute, when Mycroft turned around to face the older man.

"Don't be."


	6. Who'll Scream First?

**I sincerely apologize for the wait, I have been caught up in a beautiful Harry Potter fic by TwilightDarkness82 called Owned. If you're a fan of D/S themes and love SS/HG as a couple then READ. Anyways. Here's the sexeh-times you've been waiting for.**

_**Warnings: M/M sex, rimming  
**_

* * *

"What?"

"I said, don't be Gregory. You may touch me if you like. Do try to keep up."

The blush creeping up his neck and the tremor in his voice belied the younger man's words. Greg took note of this fact and chuckled. Still slightly embarrassed, he tentatively placed his hands on both Mycroft's shoulders and began to rub in tiny circles.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and decided to have a little fun with the man. He took in a breath and released the sexiest sound Greg had ever heard.

"_More..."_

The sound shot straight to Greg's cock, and he shuddered, biting his lip before complying with Mycroft's request. Digging his palms in, he massaged the younger man's aching muscles. Reminded of _why_ they ached, he blushed, grateful that Mycroft could not see his face. Biting his lip again, he remembered the sounds Mycroft had made as he sucked him off. The noticeable bulge in his pants would have attracted Mycroft's immediate attention, had he not been facing away from the older man.

The younger man began to make those sounds again under his skillful ministrations, and just when he thought he would flip Mycroft over and take him on the picnic table, the other man did something very unexpected.

Mycroft had been thinking about turning around and snogging the hell out of the silver fox behind him, and this is exactly what he did.

Or almost.

In the act of turning around he stumbled over the bench, twisting his knees and effectively falling on top of Greg, who tumbled onto the ground.

"Oh god, Gregory. I'm so sorry."

Greg cocked his head up at Mycroft. Although the man was on top of him, he couldn't say he minded it. In fact, he rather liked it. Shifting so he fit more comfortably beneath him, he grinned.

"Don't be"

Mycroft looked stunned for a second, until Greg kissed him. Lips battling for dominance, Mycroft finally won and delved into the older man's mouth. Exploring every inch, he bit at Greg's lips, eliciting a groan. The older man bucked his hips into Mycroft, and he moaned into Greg's mouth.

"Jesus, Myc. Let's...uh...go to the...ah...tent."

Mycroft had moved on from his mouth and was now exploring his neck and collarbone, leaving little marks where he bit down just enough to make Greg gasp. He picked Mycroft up in one fluid motion and set off in the direction of the tent, a remarkable feat considering that his legs were about to give out from the sensation of Mycroft's lips on his. He set him down to unzip the tent, and bent over to grab the zipper, when Mycroft surprised him again.

Mycroft didn't know what came over him, all he could focus on was the mental image of this man screaming in ecstasy beneath him. This irked him somewhat, as he normally didn't lose control. But seeing the sweat break out over the older man's forehead, the way his heart was racing and his legs were shaking made him want to continue. He _had_ to make this man scream his name.

As Greg reached down for the zipper, he felt movement, and then suddenly, cold air on his behind. He blushed in indignation and confusion, wondering what the hell Mycroft was doing, when he suddenly lost all ability to think, much less undo the zipper on the tent.

Mycroft licked him, swirling his tongue around the tight ring of muscles and he moaned loudly.

"_Fuck..._Mycroft!"

The older man bucked back and Mycroft smiled, rewarding him by penetrating his tight hole with his tongue and fucking him slowly with it.

_"Ah!"_

Jesus. Greg had thought he'd wanted to fuck Mycroft, but right now he'd give anything to have it the other way 'round.

Mycroft reached a hand around to his aching cock and slowly stroked while licking him, until Greg felt like his legs were going to give out any moment. He noticed the older man shaking and unzipped the tent the rest of the way.

Mycroft stopped his torture and let Greg shakily enter the tent, his bare ass still exposed and making the younger man almost pounce on him. Climbing inside, Greg sat down, waiting for Mycroft to enter. He was shaking with desire, his whole body covered in sweat, and he fell back onto a sleeping bag, his jeans still around his knees.

_Jesus I feel like a common whore, but I don't care as long as the British Government fucks me over one more time._

Mycroft studied the shaking man laying on his sleeping bag, the way he stared back at him, challenging him to assert dominance. Mycroft Holmes had never before considered himself as having dominant tendencies, but right now he wanted to bring Lestrade to the brink of orgasm and back as many times as he would allow.

Mycroft growled, an almost predatory growl that made Greg feel like he was about to be devoured. Of course, he knew that if he displayed any sign of wanting to stop, Mycroft would immediately exit the tent, and most likely never talk to him again out of mortification.

_"No need to worry about that then." _he thought.

Mycroft ducked his head in and crawled over Greg. He sat back on his heels and removed his clothing, and Gregory watched every bit of skin the younger man revealed, determined to map every inch. Once Mycroft was done, he stopped for a moment and looked at Greg with something strange in his eyes.

"Mycroft Holmes, if you don't fuck me with that perfect body I swear I'll-"

He was cut short as Mycroft kissed him 's clothes were ripped off of him, and Mycroft brought his lips down to the tip of his cock, making him moan in ecstasy. The younger man slowly slipped a finger into his tight hole and worked it around. Greg's whole body shook when Mycroft brushed a particular spot, and he smiled around Greg's cock. _"Let's see if I can get him to four."_

Greg nearly came then and there, with the younger man's perfect fingers working his ass, and his perfect lips wrapped around his cock. It'd been awhile since Greg had bottomed, and he was glad that Mycroft was taking the time to prepare.

Mycroft slipped another finger in and scissored them, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan around his length that sent vibrations throughout Greg's whole body.

Suddenly, he felt something much bigger line itself up at his entrance, and he gasped. He hadn't even noticed Mycroft's lips slide off his cock with a small pop, or the click of the lube being opened.

Pushing in, he made Gregory scream in pleasure beneath him, and he almost came right there.

Gregory had never felt so full in his life, and he did the only thing he could think to do.

_"Please, Mycroft! More..."_

He obliged, thrusting into the man beneath him. He looked thoroughly debauched, hips rising to meet Mycroft's thrusts, flushed skin, panting and hands curling in the blankets beside his hips. He was beautiful.

The younger man angled his thrusts to meet his prostate, and both of Greg's legs shook around him. Mycroft put his legs on his shoulders and shifted forward, so Gregory's knees were pressed to his chest. With every thrust in the new position, Mycroft hit the other man's prostate and he moaned loudly with every thrust, breathing shakily as he felt a coiling in his belly.

Mycroft looked no better than him, about to fall apart with the tightness of Greg and the sounds he was ripping from the throat of the older man.

With a scream, he came, emptying himself into the older man, shaking and quivering. Greg came a few seconds after, his whole body racked with spasms.

They laid without moving, breathing heavily, Mycroft attempting to support himself on shaky arms.

Abruptly, the sound of the tent being unzipped was heard. Too fast for the two men to react, someone poked their head in.

"Jesus fuck..."


End file.
